Pickles vs The Lamp
by deadpan riot
Summary: Pickles is called into Offdenson's office to discuss something in the tabloids, only to become distracted by something evil lurking on the manager's desk.  One-shot.  Rated for drugs and possesed furniture.


a/n: found this bad-boy when i was going through the shit on my computer. I think I may have put it up on LJ awhile back, actually. oh well. Enjoy Pickles' magical drug induced shenanigans!

Disclaimer: Metalocalypse amnt mine. Obviously. Or this so would have been an episode. Because possesed furniture is all the rage.

* * *

"Now Pickles, I'd like to discuss this, uh, article here-" The sound of shuffling papers momentarily filled the room. "Yes. Now, normally I don't pay much attention to what the tabloids are saying…."

At this point Pickles had checked out. Not that he'd been really all that committed to listening in the first place. It'd been a long couple of days, despite that it had, in fact, been less than 24 hours. He couldn't remember exactly when time had started to slow down, or, for that matter, what combination of illegal substances had triggered it in the first place. Not that it really mattered.

He slumped further in his seat, eyes wandering away from Offdenson to the window behind him. The clouds where having a hell of a time out there. Or was that cotton candy? Hard to say, since he had no idea which one giant zombie canaries could swim in. Wait, could canaries swim?

"Piiiiiiiiiicklesssssss…."

He jumped slightly, looking around for the source of the creepy voice.

"Heeeeeeere…" The mystery speaker giggled inappropriately, helping Pickles to figure out where the hell the voice was coming from.

"Ye'ra laemp?" At least, that's what he thought he said. He wasn't a hundred percent sure he'd actually opened his mouth and attempted to articulate. Not that it mattered, since his question was quite obviously heard.

"Ooooonly on the ooooutsssside…" More creepy giggling.

Pickles frowned. He wasn't sure how the fuck the thing was talking with no mouth, so he asked it as much.

It didn't answer at first, still giggling and all, tail flicking about like a cat's…No, cord, not tail…he was pretty sure lamps didn't have tails. Or did they? Maybe he never noticed before? Or maybe they only had them in the wild, before they were bagged and tagged for a life of captivity…yea, that could be it, totally.

"Wudyu wahnt?" He eyed the thing up. It looked like the same lamp that had been on the manager's desk every other time he'd been in here and bothered to take stock of his surroundings, even after the lamp breaking party.

Giggle. "Your ssssooooul, silly."

Now that caught his attention. "Waht? Why? It's, prahbly sahggy dood…" He took a moment to contemplate how he thought his soul would taste, and whether or not ketchup would make a difference.

The Lamp turned its big yellow eyes on him. It reminded him of the time he'd made a snow angle then used his piss to give it eyes and an inappropriate, barely legible name. What'd he name it? He drew a blank. He could vaguely remember what shapes the letters in the snow had, but, well, he could barely read his, uh, "handwriting" when he was sober. And using his hands.

"…And theeen I will be freeeee!" The lamp laughed manically. Pickles blinked, feeling slightly lost. Obviously he'd missed something. Not that the tirade the Lamp had obviously been on would've been all that interesting. It was a lamp for chris'sakes.

"But ye'ra laemp…" He figured it was best he point that out now, before the thing got it's hopes up…or something.

"?" The sudden noise scared the crap out of him, making him forget about the hair he'd been staring at on Offdenson's desk. Which he would probably regret later, since it had been telling him the most marvelous story about how swans make margaritas.

"Heh, dood, ye'ra talkin laemp! Yeh know the one abo' the swaens?"

"SWANS? ARE YOU RETARDED? I'M A FUCKING LAMP! I HAVN'T MOVED FROM THIS DESK SINCE THE BEGINNING OF TIME!"

"Doooood, that'd a laaaaaahng time!" He sat up as best he could, fully intent on grabbing the poor thing and moving it to the floor. A nice change of perspective was just what the doctor prescribed! Well, not to him, but he didn't think the Lamp's problems could be fixed with narcotics. It lacking in a mouth and all.

"STOP! StoooooopstopstopSTOP," It returned to its giggling once it was sure Pickles was no longer intent on molesting it with his 'remedies'.

"Noooooow, siiiiilly little man, taaaalking time is ooooveeer!" The annoying dead kid voice was back, elongated words and all. Pickles would have rolled his eyes, if he hadn't just misplaced them. Funny how those trivial little things could get lost, especially since they were attached to his skull. Wait…He poked himself in the eye-hole, but couldn't tell if that creepy little cord was still there. Something slimy and round and painful was in the way. Fuck if he could see what it was either. Too bad he'd forgotten where he'd left his eyes…..

"-DEVOUR YOU!" Pickles jumped as the sudden noise invaded his ears, which had just come back from their holiday in Cambodia as lawn flamingos. Now, there was a story for the grandchildren, but sadly it would have to wait. Pickles had more pressing problems.

The sudden unexplained pain in his foot only heightened his terror as he watched the Lamp lung toward him, eyes flickering, screeching. Fearing for his life, he used the desk in front of him to propel his chair over backwards. The landing part was a bit awkward, and for a second or 20 the ceiling and floor decided to be dicks and trade places, just to fuck with him. He figured they were probably on the lamp's side. Once the world righted itself, he dashed to the door as best as was possible when one was attempting to run atop an ocean of Jello. Had he not been so terrified he would have immediately demanded that Jello running be made an Olympic sport, and that a rink of it be built for him at once. Fortunately for Offdenson and sports fans alike, he was too preoccupied with fleeing his tormenter.

Charles looked up from the magazine in his hands at the sound of the chair hitting the floor. Inane babbling he could ignore. Violence against his office things he could not. "Pickles…" He knew the second the drummer popped up from the floor that any further attempts at normality would be a lost cause. He hadn't a clue what exactly it was that was flying through the red head's veins, but he knew instinctually that it was nothing he'd ever want to experience.

He dropped the magazine on his desk with a sigh, rubbing the bridge of his nose as hollers of "Lamp Monster" echoed through the corridors. At least, that's what it sounded like. The stone walls only made Pickles' slurring accent worse.

Standing to right the chair, Charles noticed for the first time that one of the lamps on his desk was missing from it's usual place. He found it, of course, since lamps being lamps can't get very far on their own, what with being attached to a wall and all. It was dangling a few inches off the floor, it's cord keeping it from gravitiy's deathly grip.

Shaking his head he righted the furniture, making a mental note to have the doctor check his drug stocks to see what was missing this time. Dealing with Pickles when he was higher than the Haus was easier when Charles knew what he was on.

"Lamp monsters. Absurd." He shook his head at the lamp. It just sat there looking innocent. Well, as innocent as an inanimate object could be without the proper faculties for such a feat.

Offdenson pushed the idiotic thoughts of a lamp's capabilities to look anything other than 'like a lamp' from his mind. He had work to do. Important forms to sign, annoying people to be paid off. He sat down and got to it.

"Chaaaaaarliiiiie…." He stopped dead, eyes roaming the room to find the offending person. No one. Creepy giggling erupted from the corner of his desk, making the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

"Chaaaarliiiie, can I have your soooooooul?"

The next morning, as Nathan wandered into Offdenson's office, he noticed something was off, but couldn't quite place what at first. And then it hit him like a mini-murder train to the nut sack.

"Why the fuck's it so dark in here?"

* * *

And that is why Offdenson had all the lamps in Mordhaus interigated and disposed of. Not to mention the guy that sold him the thing in the first place. Also why Ikea had a sudden spike in sales. Yea.

deadpan riot


End file.
